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With his father's sword in his red right hand,
And the hostile dead around him, Lay a youthful Chief; but his bed was the ground,
And the grave's icy sleep had bound him.
He loosed his hold, and his swelling heart
Took part with the dead before him ; And he honoured the brave who died sword in hand
As with softened brow he leaned o'er him.
“No loving smile awaits me now,
O holy Christ and dear;
I am forgotten here."
He spoke, when lo, with wand of light
And voice how heavenly sweet, Another child, all robed in white,
Came gliding up the street.
“The holy Christ,” He said, “am I,
A child like unto thee;
Thou’rt not forgot by Me.”
“And I Myself for thee will raise
A tree so full of light,
Shall seem to fade from sight.”
While yet He speaks, from earth to sky
A golden tree had sprung, With stars in clust‘ring radiancy
Amid its branches hung.
How near and yet how far it seemed,
How bathed in floods of light !
It looked so wondrous bright.
He thought he dreamed, while from above
The angels o,er him smiled,
Towards the stranger child.
They lift, they bear him from the ground,
Up trrough the shining space; And now the outcast one has found
With Christ his resting place.
Of instant death, to Libya's desert fled ;
The fugitive, through terror at a stand,
Mute with asthonishment the assembly gaze:
XVII. -THE PUREST PEARL.
ESIDE the church door, a-weary and alone,
A blind women sat on the cold door-stone, The wind was bitter, the snow fell fast, And a mocking voice in the fitful blast Seemed ever to echo the morning cry, As she begged an alms of the passers-by, “Have pity on me, have pity, I pray ; My back is bent, and my hair is gray.'
The bells were ringing the hour of prayer,
Some were hoping their souls to save,
At last came one of noble name,
On the poor white hand, so shrunken and small,
N slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay,
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.
He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While memory stood sideways half covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.
Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.
A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a fond kiss unite
With the lips of the sister his bosom holds dear.
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast;
Joy quickens his pulses,--his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,
"O God! thou hast blest me,-I ask for no more."